


wading through fog

by QueenOfSkaro



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arkenstone - Freeform, Goldsickness, M/M, Mental Instability, Pre BOFTA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfSkaro/pseuds/QueenOfSkaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin can't find his way out of his head, but luckily he has his own torch for the darkest days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wading through fog

„What would you do with it?“, came a timid voice from somewhere over the man-high pile of gold coins, ringing in his ears as insistent as the clinking of his treasures. There was a tension there, he noted on the edges of his mind, the small fringe of consciousness that tried to tell him something, something important, but it wasn't loud enough to pierce the thick fog of _treasure treasure treasure_.  
He was home, he defeated Smaug, he could bath in gold. But still he was missing something.

He gave a noncommittal grunt as he dug deeper into the heap of gold, using an antique goblet as a shovel, _searching searching searching_. But despite his search - _so important, so so much_ \- he didn't forget about his guest, **couldn't wouldn't didn't want to**.

“The arkenstone. What will happen if – when you find it?”, Bilbo asked as he stepped into his line of vision and Thorin stopped what he'd been doing. This halfling, hobbit, Bilbo always managed to worm into his awareness. For the moment his focus shifted, the thin fringe widened and gave him the possibility of a conscious thought, made him himself again, for a moment, a second, the blink of an eye, before the fog snapped back and he focused on the topic instead of the speaker.

“It's my families heirloom, my birthright. The jewel of a king. I will have it. I will find it.”, he answered, back in a trance, back in his search, drowning in fog.  
“That's not what I asked, Thorin. What happens when you find it? When you can stop your search and truly rule your kingdom. What are your plans?”, the hobbit specified, taking a step closer, banishing the fog momentarily or maybe it was the question that did it.

What are his plans, indeed. He will be king. He will rule his people. But how will he rule them? What will he do?  
“I -”, he started, only to notice that he didn't know how to end the sentence and he shoved the cup into the coins in frustration. Anger pulsed through his veins and with a shout he hurtled the trinket down into the endless depth of the cavern.   
Bilbo jumped back half a step, but straightened out with a determined frown.

It's all there on the outskirt of his mind, he can feel it within his reach and he tried to get there - _gave his best, all he had, wanted wanted wanted, but_ \-   
“Thorin, please. Look at me. When you have the stone in your hand, what will you do?”, Bilbo pressed forward, leaning into the dwarfs space and the king fell backwards into his treasure as he tried to get away.

Coins clinked as they rumbled down around him, showering him in gold and he dug his fingers in until they hurt from his unrelenting grip on the metal. The sounds stopped ringing in his head and he tried to think. He needed to answer the question – not only for the nervously waiting halfling, Thorin could feel the weight behind it.

_what will he do what will he do what will he do_

The search would be over, the kingdom secured, all rights would lay with him.  
“The first thing you'll do when you have the stone. Tell me. Thorin, you need to tell me.”, his burglar urged, voice prominent in his head, piercing through the mist, clearing a path, but he needed to fight too.  
Sweat pearled on his forehead, between his fingers, down his back. Now he fought the battle he couldn't fight with Smaug. The dragon was dead, but he left a curse behind, a terrible sickness, a cloud over everyones thoughts who was too weak to resist -

He was not weak. Not in body, not in mind. He endured hardships, a terrible fate, thousands of deaths. He will fight sickness, will fight gold and he will win.   
Closing his eyes he blocked out the hobbit who gathered his attention, turned a blind eye to his treasure. The coins dug even deeper into his hands, breaking skin, drawing blood. Gold hurt. Not his flesh, something else, something important, if he could only hold the thought long enough to grasp it.

“You are the king, Thorin, what will you do?”, the lovely voice cast light behind his eyes and this he could grab, could wind around and hold for dear life. This voice, hard as metal and clear as a bell led him, gave him hope, gave him light. 

Stumbling upon a thought of his sister sons, always smiling, always laughing, but not now, not in Erebor – he pulled it towards him, span them in light and kept them near.  
“Fili – Kili”, he breathed out almost in relief – relief that he recognized them, that he found them, that even though he felt like drowning he'd have them as his last thought.

“Yes! They are here, too, waiting in the hall. What will happen to them when you find the stone?”, the bells chimed again, filled with hope, and smiles and warmth.  
They'll be princes, then, won't they? They were always princes, royalty, treasure – no, not treasure itself, but something to treasure instead. Kili and Fili and his beloved sister Dis. His family, always dear and near and there.

And then, at that thought spread like wildfire, **family family family** thoughts of dear friends came as well.   
Dwalin, brother in everything but blood. His cousin Balin, reprimanding and – yes, Thorin remembered now, snips and pieces of his advisor and confidant trying to talk to him, to bring him to his senses. 

He remembered Gloin, who worked as a banker, getting tired of counting the gold and even then Thorin hadn't seen, didn't want to acknowledge his weakness.  
Oin, talking overly loud, even for him, to Bifur and his cousins translating everything to Iglishmek. The healer who worried about the king not eating or drinking or sleeping.

Bofur and Bombur who recognized a sick mind when they saw it, after all the times of people talking bad about the axe-headed dwarf.   
Nori, telling his brothers that he always knew this would happen, but that he'd hoped he'd be wrong and everything would turn out alright. But of course he saw the first signs and from then kept Ori and Dori away.

His company needed to be kept away from him. **His company, his company, his – Bilbo**.  
There wasn't a specific memory of him coming to his mind, more like an all encompassing feeling, a yearning, a - _love, yes, that was love, **his Bilbo** , his torch in fog and darkness._

Blue eyes snapped open, but instead of turning to the gold they zeroed in on the small creature in front of him, watching him with hopeful eyes, biting his lip, hand reaching out and clenching at thin air.

“I will call Dain. I will call Dis. I will call everyone willing to listen that Erebor is in dwarven hand once again and that we will need every dwarf we can get to make it prosper again.”, he spoke clear and regal and stood up to his full height. Bilbo let out a breathless laugh, freeing himself of his tension.  
“Because this is why our company went on this journey. But before all that – I will do this.”, he announced, already leaning down and engulfing the curly head with his hands, dipping down to kiss the bite-swollen lips softy. Lips he now remembered fantasizing, dreaming about and now that he felt them under his it was glorious and breathtaking and so chaste it ended soon after it started.

Catching this particular hobbit without words was a sight to behold, Thorin thought – because that was possible again, real thinking and being entirely able to use his head – and he took the chance for another kiss. A kiss reciprocated was even more enjoyable than the first and for the first time in days something warmer than frustration and anger rushed through his veins, bubbling and boiling and curling and holding.

“My Thorin.”, was whispered against his own chapped, dehydrated lips, rasping over them with teeth marks.  
“My Bilbo.”, he returned in kind with a soft, besotted smile on his face.

Feeling free was new, as was feeling lightheaded. He could think of another few words and now that he was able to form his own thoughts again he gave in and let them run through his head, feeling content and happy and entirely at home.  
This was where he belonged. Bilbo in his arms would suffice, he tried to reason, but he knew that being in Erebor, his birthplace, was also a big part of it.

“I'll write to them. Surely, they won't protest too much. Well, Dain might, but as he doesn't have the arkenstone either he doesn't have any more right to the throne than me. Of course, he has an army, so – I – I think I should go and talk to Balin.”, he rambled, though he'd never call it that. But it was hard to keep his thoughts to himself – it felt like a luxury to have them, a treasure he needed to share – and that startled a laugh from him, because the thought of his thoughts as treasure while standing in the biggest treasury known to dwarf-kind was - 

It probably wasn't half as hilarious as he thought it was, if Bilbos look said anything after he tried to explain why he was laughing. Worry stretched over handsome features and that was enough to bring him out of it.

“I will go and talk to Balin, but I hope we can continue this later.”, the king reasoned, as serious as possible, because he didn't want Bilbo to worry if he lost his mind.

He didn't.  
He got it back.

He needed to kiss those plump lips again, but the hobbit gently pushed him away again.  
“Thorin, I – please don't – you see”, the halfling tried, but couldn't seem to find a good starting point. It was obvious this wouldn't lead to anything good, so the dwarf took a step back.   
Pain crossed Bilbos face.

“I swear, I never meant to keep it. This is why I came here, to see if it was save to give to you. I didn't steal it or anything.”, the voice sounded frightened, unsure, as it ranted. Bilbo dug into his pockets and pulled out a cloth-hidden object.

“I swear, Thorin, I only picked it up to give it back. But after I saw you – I was afraid what it would do to you.”, Bilbo continued, as Thorin slowly slid the cloth from what was unmistakably the arkenstone, _the kings jewel, his birth right, his -_

His breath hitched and faltered, pained him as he pulled in into his lungs.   
He had found it. It was finally with him, his arkenstone, shining with beauty and illuminating all his beautiful treasure.

“Please don't do this.”, a familiar voice snapped him out of his trance-like stare, a tone that sounded fragile and pleading, shaky and sad. Bilbo shouldn't sound this way. But it was effective and brought him back to himself with a disgusted grunt, shoving the cloth back in place.

“Come with me.”, he urged, even though he took Bilbos hand anyway, the hand free of that jewel of madness.  
The king under the mountain led them through piles of gold and gemstones, taking the shortest path that would lead them onto stone. It would be longer in general, but it was worth it as he breathed a sigh of relief upon exiting the treasury.

“Where are we going?”, Bilbo asked quietly without pausing his steps, having to jog beside him to keep up, but not complaining about the pace.  
“We'll do what my grandfather should have done decades ago.”, was his reply and then they passed halls and corridors in silence.  
Minutes passed until they reached the entry hall where the company camped out.

Everyone sprang to action in a disbelieving worry as they recognized their king pulling their burglar with him.  
They followed, of course, but weren't sure how to tread in this situation.  
Calls of their kings name went unanswered, but Bilbo waved their concerns off with the hand that wasn't being held by Thorin, but instead held – the arkenstone?

The cloth didn't stay put as they jogged and gave way to an eerie light. They walked a little faster in alarm.  
It was the throne room they were entering at last and Bilbo couldn't help the little yell of fright as he looked down the deep chasm that was once a vibrant, living city.  
A kingdom.

Now it was more like a tomb, a darkness that seemed to swallow everything.  
They stopped in front of the broken throne and Thorin turned to look over his company, taking in the wary glances and distrustful looks and he hurt with the knowledge that he did, in fact, deserve this.

“I, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, hereby swear to do better then my ancestors. To be a better king, a better leader, a better friend.”, he declared and the echo boomed through the city, resonating in their bones.

He pried the glowing jewel from the hobbits unresisting hand and took the cloth off entirely. The company gasped at their first real look at it since the fall of Erebor – or, in some cases, the first look at all.  
Anticipation settled over the group as they stared at Thorin, standing by his throne, the king jewel in his hand, staring at them in return.

And then he did the unthinkable.   
He turned around and threw the stone with all his might, all his fury against the opposite wall where it burst apart into a myriad of pieces, showering glittering dust into the abyss.

Shocked silence rooted everyone to their spot, not able to form a coherent thought.   
Thorin turned back to them.  
“I have a lot to atone for. I understand any lingering distrust. I disappointed you. That will not happen again. Whatever I can do to repay you I am willing to do.”, the king – groveled was probably the best fitting word for it, but it took surprisingly little pride for him to get it over his lips. 

It was necessary for him to redeem himself and if groveling was what it took for them to forgive him then so be it.  
He took a deep breath to steel himself for their answers as Kili burst forward, all energy and smiles and teeth and hugs and Thorin couldn't not return the embrace with crushing force, keeping him pressed to his chest long enough for Fili to join them.

It seemed like an eternity later as he let go of his sister sons and the coil in his stomach eased as he saw the smiles on most of his companions faces.

“Not to ruin the mood or anything, but – what now? Won't Dain come to claim the throne?”, Bilbo asked hesitantly, but Thorin gave him a grin which held more bite than amusement.

“Let him come and find out what will happen if he crosses us.”

His reply was followed by laughter and war cries and the king under the mountain let them rush over him as he shared a loving look with his burglar.

Let them come.


End file.
